


remember where you are

by theflamingpen



Series: altered consciousness [2]
Category: Altered Carbon (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breathplay, Choking, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Single POV, dick worship, stronger D/s overtones, thoughts of threesomes but nothing portrayed here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 23:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflamingpen/pseuds/theflamingpen
Summary: Laurens likes using his office for anything but work.





	remember where you are

**Author's Note:**

> yes a part II that doesnt directly follow the show plot, but kind of.

“She didn’t like your idea of progress.” 

Laurens whispers, before Kovacs can even come up with an excuse to go with the still healing cuts over his eyebrow. “I didn’t like her idea of blindsiding me with her sex magic.” 

He answers with as much subtle anger as he dares. 

He’s not about to risk threatening his boss, not to his face, again. 

Laurens smiles, almost to himself, and then his gaze flicks up from the papers scattered over his desk, meeting Kovacs dead on. “She says you fucked her against the wall, then on the bed. Refused to look in her eyes. What’s changed? What’s wrong, my pet?”

His nostrils flare, and he sets his jaw. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m under your employ, not your slave.”

“I think you’ll find that’s where you’re wrong. Perhaps Miriam and I were too soft with you. That first morning. You were hurt. You’re still hurt. But you can take it. Come here.” Kovacs snorts to himself. 

He can take it, like those poor sad whores who either ended up bruised or dead. Sure he can. He goes. He’s not arguing with Laurens, not when his dick’s already half hard, whether from some kind of magic living in this man’s blood as well, or something else entirely. 

Hell, he was in Miriam, he drank from her, she’s infected him as much as Laurens has with his words. “Right here.” Kovacs stops behind the desk, standing opposite the man, who reaches down to adjust himself. He’s anything but subtle about his wants. He should be repulsed, but instead, he gets harder. “Should I get on my knees?” He asks with a mocking tone, but Laurens just shakes his head. 

“Take off your pants and bend over the desk.” Kovacs isn’t disappointed or shocked, merely concerned. Exposing his back and blinding himself to where the man will be is a poor judgement call. 

He tilts his head and steps over, undoing the zip and fly, letting his pants and underwear pool around his ankles, not bothering to ask if he needs to worry about removing his shoes and socks. 

Laurens isn’t one of those freaks, if anything, Miriam is. The eagerness with which she threw her legs on his shoulders so he could bend her in half was admirable for her age. 

Kovacs waits as the cool air drifts over his skin, making goosebumps rise. 

“Are you going to spank me or what?” He finally says dryly, and Laurens stifles a laugh, badly.

“No. I’m considering how to prepare you.” Kovacs leans forward, bracing his palms flat on the surface of the desk, silky polished wood smooth beneath his skin. His pulse ratchets up a notch, and finally he hears Laurens moving, getting out of his chair, coming right behind Kovacs to breathe on his neck. 

For some reason, he likes that. His cock drools onto the surface of the desk, just enough over the edge to make a little clear puddle of fluid. 

One of Laurens hands slides from the swell of his left asscheek around his stomach, skimming a scar. Miriam kissed them all, caressed them with actual concern and care. 

Kovacs wonders if that was all part of a ruse to make him feel less like she took advantage of him. Laurens’ fingers dip below his navel, and trace along the shaft of his cock to stop at the head, tapping three times over the shiny skin. 

“You’re gorgeous. You know that? The luck of you, getting a body like  _ this _ from a jail storage center is incredible. You could have been anything. To have  _ this _ after what you did, is almost a crime itself.” Laurens hand curls around Kovacs length, and strokes over him once up the entirety, before drifting back down, his palm teases right over the slit. Despite the lack of stimulation, Kovacs is steadily leaking onto the desk, balls tightening. “You’re not really putting me in my place.” He says finally. 

Laurens smirks into the side of his neck and then rolls his hips forward, so that there’s no mistaking his arousal. 

“I’m just enjoying the view. I see your cock in my dreams now. I used to dream about solving the mystery of my murder, but now, you’ve reduced me to a lovesick schoolboy. How dare you.” 

Kovacs doesn’t hear a bite to it, rather, he feels it, when Laurens mouth makes contact with his nape, and the warm wet glide of the man’s tongue further raises his hackles. 

He wishes Laurens would just get  _ on with it _ , but the man seems intent on teasing him. 

It’s what he enjoys, according to Miriam. It’s why she’d been so delighted with the marathon Kovacs had run with her. The sex never stopped, or slowed down, until she was spent, and his body was screaming at him. Now, Kovacs waits, and wonders, if and when he’ll get to come, along with the how. 

Laurens puts his other hand on the side of Kovacs waist, then splays it up under his shirt, feeling for the ridges of his other scars, the puckers of bullet wounds long since healed, and he lets his eyes fall closed. This, is the closest thing to being held he’s known in this new body, not counting the shower encounter. 

Laurens rocks into his ass, the sharp rasp of denim against his bare skin this side of arousing, and the hand on Kovacs cock moves again, this time groping him, methodical squeezes that even out into strokes. 

The man’s hand then drifts back down from his chest, and around back to massage his ass, and fingers just barely graze his cleft. 

“You would prefer I didn’t get on my knees and make you scream with my mouth, now wouldn’t you?” Kovacs has to think, very hard for a moment, to figure out what Laurens is asking, and when he arrives at it, his dick blurts out a dribble of precum. “Oh. I’m not sure.” 

“You are. That can wait. I’d prefer you were drowning in Miriam’s cunt while I eat you out.” 

Laurens finishes his thought quite bluntly, as Kovacs head falls backwards, resting easily on the man’s shoulder, just shy of coming in the next handful of seconds. A fingertip presses firmly on his hole, and Laurens shows his hand. He groans against Kovacs temple, panting into his hair, and then lets go of his dick. He fumbles for something in a desk drawer, and then grunts in satisfaction. 

“Lower yourself down onto the desk. Don’t worry about sweating or coming on anything. Nothing important is kept on paper anymore.” Laurens murmurs, and Kovacs takes the hint. 

He leans on his elbows, and keeps his arms flat. The shit on the man’s desk is all just for show. 

To make him seem busy, like he’s doing work. Maybe all this office is, can be called an illusion.

Does he just like fucking in here? Kovacs can’t be sure. 

He  _ is _ sure of the cool slick fingers on his ass, the wet rub of a thumb over his hole, and the steady pressure that drives into him. Laurens may be a lot of things, but he’s not cruel. 

Miriam didn’t have to prepare Kovacs to fuck her, and he thinks there’s probably a dozen different things she could have demanded. She didn’t. 

Laurens opens him up with slow, deep slides of his fingers, and eventually hits his prostate, sending shockwaves of bliss down his spine, right to his cock, now pointing right down to the floor. 

The hard unyielding line of the desk digs into his stomach, but keeps his dick hanging free without any stimulation. It’s enough to drive him mad. He would be, if Laurens didn’t add a third finger and start rubbing mercilessly into his prostate, making his jaw go slack, and his eyes flutter shut. 

“God… fuck… I’m close.” He mutters it, and hopes he won’t be heard. By who, he’s not sure.

Laurens doesn’t stop though, and Kovacs comes like that, with a razors edge of pleasure almost shoved through him, pulses of semen leaving his cock in lazy spurts. 

He doesn’t hear them so much as feel them land on the floor, on his pants, maybe even his shoes. 

Laurens chuckles, and then pulls his hand back, his clean one now digging into Kovacs hip, bruising. 

The man must use his lube messy fingers to free himself from his pants, as the next thing he feels is the blunt head of Laurens cock, probing at Kovacs fluttering hole. It’s hot and wet, as he drives in with a smooth thrust, thanks to plenty of lube and the sheer fact his dick isn’t three fingers wide, Kovacs swallows down a smile. He’s had Laurens in his mouth, he’s seen Miriam take him with little effort. 

He’s got a vague memory of her telling him last night that she’d love to have them both at once, and he’d not even bothered to clarify if she meant in one place or both. 

Kovacs groans as Laurens bottoms out, and manages to hit over his prostate on the back stroke, before thrusting back in. There’s a slippery hand on his stomach again, urging him up, up. 

Kovacs does his best not to unseat Laurens dick from his ass while he stands, and then feels the dry hand on his chest, bracing across it. 

“There you go. Good boy.” He grits his teeth against the demeaning term, and let’s Laurens keep fucking into him. The hand shifts from grasping at his shirt collar to more curving around his throat, and sharp jolts of panic lace through him. 

His cock is exposed to the air now, and Laurens other hand stays at his hip, before letting go to suddenly stroke over him. It’s a sweet, sensual touch, thanks to the excess lube, and Kovacs’ eyes roll shut, even as the fingers on his neck tighten. “That’s it, there you go. You can come again, I know it.” 

Kovacs focuses on the push pull drive of Laurens cock inside him, and he tries to grind back, to clench down hard, to make it good and hopefully loosen the hand on his throat. 

He doesn’t like this at all, not since he saw the exact evidence of how much Laurens likes this. 

It’s almost palatable, the tension, the pleasure, the way Laurens dick seems to harden inside him, and then his thrusts slow down, and he’s driving right into Kovacs’ prostate with intent. 

The hand on his dick speeds up, and Kovacs realizes Laurens is one hundred percent serious about making him come before he finishes. Maybe it’s the lack of perfect air, or the slight tinge of fear in the press of fingertips along the sides of his cock, he doesn’t know. Either way, Laurens’ lips meet his temple just as his thumb caresses the underside of Kovacs jaw, and he arches his back, gasping for breath and coming with the force of a freight train, gripping hard around the cock driving into him. 

His vision is going spotty, and his orgasm seems to linger, like sparks on the surface of his skin, while the man behind him keeps him flying through it all. Eventually, Laurens hips still, and he slumps over Kovacs, who’s heart pounds a mile a minute, all the while he feels the wet stroke of his own release being petted over his skin. Rubbed into it, the illusion of gentleness and comfort. Laurens grunts, and then gives an abortive thrust, before stiffening, and warmth explodes inside Kovacs, just as teeth bite down on the nape of his neck. “Perfection.” He hears dimly, and he notices he can inhale properly again. 

The hand from his throat slips down his chest, fingers digging into the front of his shirt, straining the buttons. His lungs expand fully and the world blooms back into full color. 

Laurens forehead rests on Kovacs shoulder, and he starts to pull out. 

The man’s release oozes out of him, down his thighs, sticky, unmistakable. 

He misses the shower, suddenly. Or sheets that will be changed in the morning when he leaves his penthouse. Kovacs sniffs, and Laurens mumbles something he doesn’t catch. 

It’s later, after he’s gotten cleaned up in the Bancroft’s guest bathroom, and he’s walked with a limp back out to the front lawn, summoning a cab to take him to his place that he recalls what the man said. 

“I hope they won’t bruise too badly.” Kovacs checks in the mirror when he’s settled. He doesn’t have to go off what the AI says, or doesn’t say, chipper and happy to see him as always. There’s five dark smudges on his neck alright. Kovacs frowns, and traces them all. Presses on them, makes them hurt. 

It won’t be the last time Laurens Bancroft marks what he thinks is his. 


End file.
